


Ink

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Childhood, Gen, Not Shippy, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:43:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1260127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingon never forgot the lessons Maedhros taught him when they were young.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ink

"No, Finno, you’re forming the letters wrongly, look, let me show you…’ Maitimo moved to place his hand over Findekáno’s much smaller one and guide the pen on the paper, letting himself write a few strong, flowing letters amidst Findekáno’s wobbly, uneven ones, before letting go and telling his cousin "now you try again yourself."

Findekáno, tongue clamped between his teeth and a small, concentrated frown on his face, determinedly reached for the ink pot, but succeeded only in upsetting it over both their hands and the practice book. Dark blue ink bloomed across the paper, causing Findekáno to burst into tears, “I’m useless at this,” he exclaimed, hiding his face from Maitimo and blushing fiercely, “I should just give up!”

But Maitimo, ignoring the ink spill spreading across the desk, put his arms around the child and tilted his head up to meet his eye. The he smiled and placed a dab of blue ink on the tip of Findekáno’s nose, making him laugh through his tears, “listen to me, Fin, you’re not useless, it happens to everyone… let’s take a break from lessons now, and tomorrow will be better, I promise.”

\-----

"It’s useless! I should just give up on this. On everything!"

Findekáno sighed, picking up the pen from where Maitimo had cast it down on the table in frustration. His cousin was already lowering his head in shame at his outburst, but Findekáno moved so that he was firmly in his line of vision. “Maitimo. Look at me” he said, in a voice that invited no argument. Slowly, Maitimo looked up at him.

"Do you remember what you told me all those years ago? That day I spilled the ink?"

"Yes," said Maitimo grudgingly, but did not elaborate.

"You told me not to give up. That tomorrow will be better. And it’s still true, do you know that Maitimo?" he smiled. "You’re not giving up, not on this, not on anything, because I won’t let you. Do you understand me?"

Maitimo looked away. “Glad to see you at least took my early lessons to heart, even if you won’t listen now.”

Findekáno did not answer, but glanced at Maitimo’s hand, and then gave him a searching look, a request for consent. Maitimo sighed and nodded, and Findekáno carefully placed the pen back in his ink-stained left hand. Then he began to gently guide Maitimo’s hand across the paper. 


End file.
